One Day More
by prettytiedup23
Summary: The battle has ended, the troops disbanded and Harry is lost. How do you pick up and move on when you left everything you are on the battlefield? Can Harry be happy in this new life or will he continue to yearn for ghosts? HP/SS Post-DH
1. Chapter 1

One day more

Rating: MA eventually

Summary: 19 year old Harry Potter is despondent and estranged. Engaged to be married, training to be an Auror and completely miserable, Harry learns that sometimes you really do get the things you want – even if you don't actually know you want them.

Warnings: Eventually, this is going to be slash. So if that bothers you, don't even bother reading this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything and I make absolutely no money from this. Don't worry, Jo, I'll return your characters more or less intact.

**One Day More:**

By: Kitty

Every person on the planet has a story to tell. Sometimes, the story is small and rather insignificant but every once in a while a story is known all over the world, an epic, heart-wrenching tale that gets told from generation to generation. No matter what type of story you have, whether your Wizard or Muggle, young or old – sometimes you make some mistakes. But, life is a funny thing, and even though something in your story goes wrong – time will continue to pass as though nothing happened at all. Days continue to pass, people continue to die and you still have to push on and slay the villain even though all you want to do is fix that one thing that haunts you every time you close your eyes.

Yes, everyone has a story to tell, just like everyone has one thing they would give anything to undo or fix somehow. Some mistake that cost too much, some unrequited love they never got around to confessing, an apology that was never given – everyone has something they regret. But, like I said, life rolls on whether or not you want it to and suddenly you wake up one day and years have passed without you ever noticing…

My story has been told so many times, so many different ways that I shan't bore you with all the monotonous drivel that you have no doubt heard for several years. Everyone always wants to hear about how someone could go from a little cupboard in Surry to destroying the darkest wizard of our time… I wish I could answer them. Fate, prophesy, or 'luck' have all been suggested but I can't honestly tell anyone how everything in my life aligned to make me The-Boy-Who-Lived-and Lived-and Lived- And Just Wouldn't Die.

But, past is past, and done is done, and time rolled on without me really wanting it to and I woke up nineteen years old, engaged to Ginny Weasley and my destiny completed. I've begun my Auror training at the Ministry and I trudge through my life as though I actually want to be here and somehow find enough fake enthusiasm to plan a wedding with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. I don't even know how on earth I went from standing inside Great Hall, receiving my honorary diploma just after The Battle for Hogwarts, to coming home to Grimmauld Place each night with Ginny waiting dinner for me.

My life is just one surreal moment after another, like snippets of a film in random order, and I almost wish I could go back to fighting Death Eaters and camping in 'The Tent' with Ron and Hermione. At least when I was dueling dark wizards, I wasn't dodging hexes from Ginny Weasley. You must think I'm kidding, but I can assure you that I am completely sincere. Whenever I do something to displease her, she promptly charms objects to fly at my head and Ginny has a hair-trigger temper. It could be something as simple as addressing her 'with an attitude' and I will spend the rest of the night concussed and walking on eggshells. In my own house!

So, it is with a large amount of shame that I spend an inordinate slab of time concocting innovative reasons that I can't be home until long after Ginny goes to bed. Each week, I set aside a piece of my break from training to plan out an excuse for each and every day. I honestly never thought that I would have to hide from my own fiancé as though she were an army of Death Eaters… Actually, at this point, I would happily take the hoard of Voldemort's followers because at least they aren't blathering about doilies while bludgeoning me to death.

You may think to ask me if I feel guilty, or to reconsider this farce of a relationship instead of running away – to which I shall evenly indicate that you should SOD OFF! It's not as though I could just waltz up to her and call off the wedding, the relationship itself as well as our current living arrangements! She would flay me alive. Probably quite literally and I value my life more than I once did. So, yes, I will continue to hide and pretend that everything is fine despite all the terrible things I have to do to keep up appearances. It's not really as bad as it could be, I suppose. We sleep in separate bedrooms, I get home late enough that I don't have to talk to her much and she gets to leach from my Gringotts account until she tires of picking out china patterns.

Today is no different; I told Ginny I would be working late to help catch up one of the other trainees when I will actually be going to the pub in Godric's Hollow to get right pissed. I don't even think twice before Apparating as soon as I pass the wards surrounding the Ministry of Magic.

The pub is cheery and bright, filled with laughter and music, and each night when I find myself ensconced in a booth in the back, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders that I didn't even know I was carrying around. Tonight is Karaoke night and the locals are in a right state about it; joking and hollering at their friends who are brave enough to get up for a number. Not for the first time, I wish I had a familiar face to take my attention from my morose meanderings though memory. Whiskey always seems to make me wistful.

It takes three doubles of whiskey and five hours to chip away at the time before Ginny goes to bed and I feel like I could head home. I Apparate home and stumble up to bed without one glimpse of Ginny – Blessing, that, as I seem to be rather sloshed and she would find that quite unbecoming of my status. Bitch. It's not as though she actually cares about me, just what people will think about her for being engaged to me. The sheets feel blissful on my cold skin and I let out a little mewl as I snuggle down into the pillow. I should just walk down to breakfast tomorrow and tell her that I don't want to be with her anymore and that she drives me nuts and I can't take it anymore. I should talk to her, despite any misgivings I might have in regards to my health after such a conversation. Maybe I'll talk to Ginny tomorrow instead of acting like a big coward.

"_DON'T CALL ME A COWARD!_"

My eyes snap open in a vain attempt to banish the image back to my trunk of things I can never think about, ever. I refuse to think about… Him, cannot allow myself to think about Him because each time I do I get this burning sensation in my chest and I can't breathe right and my eyes itch peculiarly. So, I just keep everything about Him trapped behind a barrier, away from my everyday life, so that I don't randomly break into tears and make a complete boob of myself while Ginny is droning on about cake selections. I admit, it's not the best coping mechanism in the world and I do end up thinking about Him late at night when I am steadfastly trying not to think about Him so in a way the whole process is a colossal waste of time. Fuck, I must be really drunk because that whole sentence barely made any sense. But, guilt never bends to reason or intellect.

Guilt really is a terrible thing, isn't it? I would almost give anything just to be able to hear Him call me a blithering idiot again. Sometimes, when I just can't stop the thoughts, I imagine that we reconciled and he is alive and well, making potions for an apothecary. I imagine I come to visit him in a little, dark shop where he spends his days. I can practically smell the vapors from his latest potion steaming the air, soaking into the very walls, his clothes. I imagine telling him how sorry I am, how I know now what he has done for me and everyone, I tell him how much I admire him even though he probably won't find any of these things worthy of a facial expression. He'll most likely just sneer at me and order me to get out of his shop before I ruin his potion by just being in the room.

By this time, I have curled into myself and turned my head into a pillow in a silly attempt to keep my eyes dry. I haven't cried since Dumbledore's funeral – not even after the battle, not even when we buried Remus and Tonks with Teddy crying as though he knew what was going on. I learned a long time ago that crying didn't actually fix anything and all it does is tire me out and make my face blotchy. This logic has keep me for three years and yet I still cant force the moisture from falling in torrents nor does it keep the images from flashing unchecked through my mind. The pressure in my chest has just gotten the better of me, the misery has just welled up inside me for too long for me ignore any longer and yet the absolute weakness I am displaying makes me feel nauseated and pathetic.

Why couldn't I keep just one of them? Would it have been such a terrible thing to leave me one person who actually understands the real me? Sirius was taken before I could even really know him, then Dumbledore before he could really tell me anything, then Him and Remus. They are all gone and I cant bring them back, not ever. Not for the first time, I wish I had something to remember them by. Just a little token for each of them, anything really, something that I could hold in my hands that would give me some connection to the people who I loved. Not that I loved Him… we hated each other… or, rather, I hated him and he pretended to hate me… until recently, at least but that still doesn't mean I love him. I respect him, without a doubt, and I forgive him for everything but there is no love lost between us. Nope. None.

I don't even know why I'm thinking about this, it's a moot point. They are dead and nothing I could ever do will bring them back. I'll never be able to tell any one of them anything anymore. They are long gone and thinking about them will bring me nothing but pain. All that's left to do is sleep before I get even more maudlin.

* * *

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

"Harry! Wake up! Harry, you're going to be late for work!"

BANG BANG BANG!

"Harry! Why is the door locked? WAKE UP!"

Oh god, I think my head is going to implode. If that infernal banshee doesn't stop her screeching soon, I am going to cut her vocal cords out.

"IM UP!" I shout, pulling a pillow over my head. Ok, the yelling was really a bad idea.

"Finally. I have breakfast on the table," Ginny huffs loudly and I can hear her retreating footsteps going down the stairs. I love that sound, it means she's leaving me alone for once. Alright, I think it's time to employ the Hangover pot – er cure. Yes, must get to the Hangover cure. Unfortunately as soon as I sit up, my stomach rolls and I can feel the bile rising up in my esophagus. Ok, movement is not going to happen. Good thing I happen to be a wizard… a wizard who didn't even bother to take his wand of his pocket before he passed out. Well, I suppose it worked out because I don't have to rummage on the night table for said wand.

"_Accio_ _Hangover Potion_," I whisper, catching the flying vile with practiced ease and swallow the entire thing before I can blink twice. Thank Merlin for potions. Right, that thought was just as terrible as I thought it would be and my chest tightens predictably. I have to remember not to drink and then come home and think about dead people while I cry like a great big girl.

Within ten minutes, I have scrubbed my teeth, taken a quick shower and shaved my unimpressive stubble and shoved my aching limbs into my standard Auror's uniform. Standing in front of the mirror, I go through my morning ritual of coaching myself on how to be nice to that vile harpy I call my fiancé. Don't raise your voice, don't move anywhere near her when she starts yelling, smile at all her frivolities, ask about her mother, and for Merlin's sake, do not tell her anything you're actually thinking.

"HARRY!" Ginny screeches and I can hear the sound of cutlery banging about and I realize that my time has run out. This time comes each morning and it seems as though every day the time before I have to face her gets shorter. I might as well get it over with before she comes up here to drag me down to the kitchen. I don't know what happened, but Ginny did not get her mother's talent for cooking. So, it is with great trepidation that I stagger down the stairs and make my way to the table to choke down whatever concoction she has mushed together. I bet He is a great cook – No, I am not going there so early in the morning.

"Morning," I mutter, climbing into my usual chair at the head of the table. Oh Merlin, she looks brassed off. I wonder what I could have done to offend her so early when, up until a half hour ago, I was sound asleep. Maybe the fact that I was sleeping while she 'slaved away at the stove' is enough to set her off for the rest of the day. I think I might see an emergency night shift opening up tonight.

"Here, you have to eat something before you go in. Mum and I are going in to London today to look for table linens so I should be home rather early if you want to have dinner together," she bites out, obviously attempting to be sweet and calm but actually coming out rather constipated. I might not be the smartest guy on the planet but I think that she just ordered me to have dinner with her in that weird, girly way they have.

"That sounds really nice, Gin, but Bert is being admitted in to the Squad on Monday, so we all thought we'd give him a proper celebration… you know, just us blokes," I croon, swallowing thickly when I see her eyes narrow in silent fury.

"Is that so? 'Just you blokes'? Sounds as though you already made up your mind," she snips in a very high voice. I cringe inwardly at the familiar tone, the signal of an impending argument that will leave me with some sort of injury. Well, I am sick of it! We'll just see who wins this round once I stop being so passive. Ha. If I can take on Voldemort than I can certainly face off with Ginny.

"Well, that's because I have. You just brought up this whole dinner thing and I'm just not at your beck and call. I already made plans and I plan on keeping them," I state, raising an eyebrow at her childish display of chucking a dishtowel at my torso.

"I am going to be your wife, Harry Potter and I think its high time you made time for me," she snarls, barely masking her contempt.

"You know, you are absolutely correct. I promise I will make more time for you as soon as you stop trying to manipulate me every second we spend in the same room," I intone, face completely blank and voice emotionless.

"How DARE you?! If you think I would just stand –, " she bellows.

"Ginevra, I have to leave for work. I'll probably be late. Have a good day," I interrupt, rising from my chair with one last drag off my cup of coffee.

Before she could say another word, I swept down the hall and out the door and made it to the apparition point. By the time I heard her roar of anger, I was already mid-spin and squeezing into the minuscule pipe that will take me to the Ministry.

* * *

"Oi! Harry!" Ron shouts, bounding over to me enthusiastically and whacking me solidly on the back.

" 'ello, mate. How are you finding Kingsley today?" I greet, grabbing his shoulder and steering him towards an unoccupied bench in the training wing.

"I'm finding that Shacklebolt needs a good lay-out and I think I need to give it to him. If he makes me try to deflect another Blasting Hex without a proper shield again, I think I'll need to visit the Infirmary," he admits, laughing easily and leaning against the wall with a bit of a slump.

"You're dodging Blasting Hexes?! Robards has got me trying to block Entrail-Expelling Curses!" I exclaim, flailing my arms about wildly in a stunted effort of communicating the complete lack of equality of the situation.

"Blimey! That's… intense, mate," he comments, looking rather jealous instead of understanding. That is the last response I thought I would earn by sharing that bit. I was hoping for a bit of commiseration on our unfortunate fates but Ron has never reacted well to feeling left out.

"Yeah, and to top it off, he's a rubbish teacher. Almost as bad as… Well, really bad anyways," I start but find my throat closing off unexpectedly. God Damn it! This is what I get for wallowing in my memories at two o'clock in the morning after massive amounts of liquor. Ok, act normal and try for a natural smile.

"Rotten luck, mate. I better head back in, but I'm sure it'll get better," he says and banks across the hallway to his separate training room.

"Har – rrrrry! Time to get back at it," Robards calls, beckoning me with a swish of his arm before he turns and strides back into my own personal hell. Why in Merlin's name did I want to be an Auror again?

* * *

"Good work today, Potter. Keep it up!" Robards says, smacking me rather hard on the back, causing me to lurch forward a bit in my rather unstable state.

"Thanks, Gawin. See you Monday," I yell back, waving absently behind me as I saunter out of the training room. Its good to be out of there! I don't know what I would have done if I had to dodge even one more curse today.

Walking through the atrium at quitting time is like trying to maneuver through an open battle field but I finally make it past the wards and prepare to Apparate.

"Harry Potter?" A voice calls from behind me. I start and whip around only to face a cloaked man with his hood pulled up.

"Yes. What can I do for you?" I reply, hedging back towards the wards and the crowd milling about just on the other side.

"I need you to come with me. Now," he grumbles, not moving an inch from his original position

"What for?" I demand, squinting at him in the fading light.

"I cannot tell you. I'll need you to trust me," he says with a slight touch of irritation coloring his deep voice.

"I don't think so. Have a nice day," I bark, just passing back through the safety of the wards.

"You don't understand, Mr. Potter. I need you to come with me right now," he insists, his voice nothing but a thick growl now.

"I think not. Goodbye" I snarl, sick of this man already. He's probably a left over Death Eater trying to lure me off to some hidden place for a bunch of them to kill me. Not bloody likely.

"Mr. Potter! I must insist that you come with me!" He shouts, drawing a lazy glance from passersbys. My wand is out before I can consciously decide to draw it and hold the carved wood evenly at his chest.

"Is that so?" I drawl, an eyebrow making its way to my hairline.

"The Prince demands your presence," he replies steadily. I can feel my brain short-circuit, my breathing hitch in my throat and every muscle tense.

"I beg your pardon?" I croak, not even aware that I wanted to speak but the words tumble from my numb lips clearly.

"I said, The Prince demands your presence," he repeats as though it's the most natural thing in the world. This is obviously a misunderstanding on my part. There is no way we are thinking of the same Prince. Impossible, actually, because I know for a fact that the one I wish he were speaking about is very dead.

"The prince of what?" I ask dumbly, aware of how utterly retarded I sound but unable to keep the question inside my mind.

"I do believe you know whom I am speaking of," he declares with confidence, his shoulders bunching back proudly.

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't! I don't know anything, Mr. Cloaked-Mystery-Man because you just showed up here trying to get me to go somewhere with you because a prince wants to talk to me and I think I'm going to need some bloody answers before I just go traipsing off with you," I rant, clutching my wand tighter in my fist and panting heavily.

"I am not at liberty to give you any details except that I am here to take you to The Prince. Your presence is absolutely essential to him, Mr. Potter. If you do not come with me, I'm afraid I shall just keep coming back until you do," he explains. Merlin, my head is pounding and I cant breathe right again and I don't think I can handle these types of things anymore. Just how many more people are there left that only want a piece of me for whatever their latest plot is? No! Don't get morose, get mad. This asshole thinks he can just walk into your life and ruin everything with one stupid sentence!

"Well, I think that's a lovely idea. Go back to your Prince and get me a letter from him and you let him tell me all the specifics that you seem unable to tell me," I demand, my left hand curling on my hip.

"Do you presume that he shall write a letter to a famous Auror and expose himself to the entire Ministry of Magic?" he laughs, though its not a very friendly sound at all.

"One, I don't see why he would be concerned with exposure and two, I want him to write a letter to me not the Ministry," I state calmly, wand still leveled at his chest.

"Are you absolutely certain that you wish me to ask this of him?" He asks, sounding very reluctant.

"Yeah, I am. So you just run back to your Prince and tell him I am not going anywhere without some answers from him," I declare, lifting my chin stubbornly.

"Alright, Mr. Potter. I will return in a few days," He says. Before I can say anything else, he disapparated.

* * *

A/N: Hi everybody! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I have wanted to start on this project for quite a while now and now I have gotten it out, I'm not sure that it came out like I wanted it to. But, this is what I have so some feedback will be greatly appreciated. REVIEW PLEASE!!!

Oceans of Love,

~Kitty


	2. Chapter 2

One Day More:

By: Kitty

"Finally! I can't believe Robards kept you so long, it's almost midnight!" Ginny shouts, coming out of the lounge to badger me in the entry hall.

"You know Gawin, he's a slave driver," I mutter, lip curling in distain. I brush past her with as little contact as possible, heading towards the kitchen to rummage something edible (e.g. something not made by Ginny).

"Oh, that man! After last night, you think he'd cut you some slack! You saved all their asses out there! I ought to march down there and give him a piece of my mind!" She exclaims, prancing into the kitchen and bustling about trying to serve me a helping of clumpy slop that must have been an attempt at stew. I wish she wouldn't talk at all, let alone about last night. It's bad enough to have to kill a man, even if he was a Death Eater, without her bringing it up every five minutes. The Prophet is doing well enough all on their own without any help from Ginny Weasley to broadcast my epic defeat of Antonin Dolohov to anyone who will listen.

"Gin, you've had a long day. Go rest, I can certainly get my own dinner," I suggest, voice sickly sweet. Please don't make me have to listen to her, let alone eat her stew, I beg you.

"Oh, that's so sweet! That's why I love you so much! I'll just go get ready for bed, if you don't mind," she coos, kissing my cheek and flouncing up the stairs, humming off-tune and practically skipping. She's been like this ever since she saw The Daily Prophet this morning. It appears that as soon as I do something news worthy, she forgets all about our arguments. Damn it, I worked really hard to start those!

At least she left me in peace to eat my dinner - Thank Merlin for that; I don't think I could handle another bout of idiocy from her tonight. It's bad enough that I've been tense, nervous and jumpy ever since that weird bloke tried to take me from the Ministry last week, I don't need Ginny making everything worse by bringing up things I would rather never think about again. The whole bloody thing is just ridiculous; I mean who would just go off with some cloaked man who says The Prince needs them? Someone would have to be incredibly stupid or simply have a death wish to ever think of going with that guy.

It's been ten days, and still not one word from Cloak Guy or The Prince. It's just as well, seeing as how I didn't want to hear anything about The Prince anyway. I am completely relieved that I haven't gotten any letters or harassed outside my job. It was obviously just some plot to kill me and now that it failed, they gave up for a bit. It's not as though I was excited about the possibility that The Prince might be a specific, dead Prince that I wish was able to write me letters. I am absolutely not disappointed.

"Goodnight, Harry" Ginny chirps from upstairs and makes a disgusting kissing noise. It certainly is better than getting another kiss anywhere on my person.

"Night, Gin," I reply as nicely as possible. It seems to work because she giggles weirdly and shuts her bedroom door.

Girls are so strange. I don't think I'll ever understand them as long as I live. Blokes are simple, uncomplicated, and easy to understand. I have never got on with many women, Hermione aside, and the longer I live with Ginny the more I understand life-long bachelors. My life would improve drastically if I didn't have her hovering about all the time, prattling on about inane frivolities. Why in Merlin's name would I give a Knut about table linens and china patterns? I just don't understand at all.

_Tap Tap Tap_

What - ? An owl at this hour? Oh god, don't panic! It doesn't particularly mean anything has happened to anyone. It could just as easily be from Charlie or someone else I know in another country or The Prince. No! Not the Prince, you dolt! He was just a ploy to kill you, not a real person. Not… Him. But what if it is? Oh god, don't panic.

Despite my mantra, I run to the kitchen window and throw it open as fast as I can. A large tawny owl rests on the sill peacefully; a letter tied to its leg, and hoots a greeting. I force a smile and practically rip the envelope from the little string attached to the owl and remember at the last minute to rub the birds head.

The envelope is thick, expensive, and smells faintly of orange blossoms. Merlin, why am I smelling it?! _Harry Potter_ is scrawled neatly on the top in spindly, even script. Okay, breathe properly, stop biting your lip and make your hands stop shaking. This letter could very easily be anything from anyone so there is no use in getting all excited about something you haven't even opened yet.

Oh for Merlin's sake, stop hyperventilating and open the bloody letter already! Whatever it says cannot be worse than you are imagining. Yes, I am going to open it, I am going to open it any minute now. STOP SHAKING! Calm down, right now! Right, stop talking to yourself and open the letter.

_**Mr. Potter,**_

_** I am pleased to hear that you have developed a self-preservation instinct, as you demonstrated Sunday night. Well done, by the way, but I do believe I told you – no Unforgivables. I didn't know you had the stomach to kill a man, even if it was a dirty Death Eater. Imagine my astonishment when I woke up Monday morning and retrieved the Prophet only to see you plastered all over the front page again. Where exactly was Roonil Wazlib during all the excitement? I didn't see his name anywhere in the massive article smeared across the front page of the Daily Prophet. It's just as well that he wasn't there; he probably would have just gotten himself killed. And wouldn't that be a shame. After all, he doesn't have the infallible luck you do.**_  
_** I am sorry that it has taken so long to open a correspondence with you; it seems that life has a peculiar tendency of getting in the way. As my good friend, Vastian, mentioned, it has become important that we speak in person. I realize that you may have some reservations about coming to meet someone who could easily turn out to be a platoon of Death Eaters, but I promise that you shall be completely safe. I'm sure that a promise from a stranger really isn't very comforting, but I can assure you that I didn't work so hard to save your life only to kill you. **_  
_** If you should find yourself agreeable to a meeting, go with Vastian (the man in the cloak) and he will bring you to my home. You can expect him outside The Ministry of Magic tomorrow evening when you get off work. Everything will be explained as soon as you arrive. **_

_**Your friend,**_

_**The Prince **_

Hands shaking again, I slowly lower the parchment to the table and place my hands flat on either side of it. Oh god, I think I'm going to throw up. Memories swirl behind my eyes unchecked and I can hear his voice ringing out over the Hogwarts grounds like it was yesterday. _'No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter. You haven't the nerve or ability –' _This is just impossible! I saw him die, I watched the light leave his eyes and I _knew_ that he was gone. But if this letter is true, if he is actually alive, then that means I left him to suffer in the Shrieking Shack, bleeding to death and filled up to the eyeballs with snake venom. I just left him without checking for a pulse or trying to help him at all. I just left him to die, all alone in a place that held nothing but his humiliation. Merlin, how can I be contemplating this? Severus Snape cannot be writing me letters, no matter how authentic it seems to be.

But who else knows about that 'no Unforgivables' thing? For that matter, who knows about The Half-Blood Prince? Who else knows about Roonil Wazlib being inscribed in the Advanced Potions book I attempted to pass off as my own instead of giving him The Half-Blood Prince's book? Who is actually that sarcastic, even when writing a letter? Who else always told me that it was only luck keeping me alive? Who would pretend to be Snape? I mean, every time I came to a conclusion about Snape, it was wrong. Each and every time I thought I had him figured out, something would pop up and ruin my brilliant theories. Is it completely beyond the realm of possibilities that he might not be dead? If anyone could out stubborn snake venom, it would be him.

Snape did create the anti-venom for Mr. Weasley when he was attacked by Nagini, it's entirely possible that he had some in his robes… or that he took it before each confrontation with Voldemort in case he was found out. Voldemort liked to let Nagini play with people he couldn't be bothered to kill himself. But if there was one thing that Voldemort despised as much as Muggles, it was traitors; he liked to take care of them himself. How would Snape have known to be concerned about Nagini? Maybe it was jus a precaution? Maybe he's a vampire and he just pretended to die in order to get out of the Wizarding world and now he's sick of being in hiding and needs my help to clear his name enough to return. That last bit may just be the fire whiskey talking, but something had to have been going on that I don't know about. Maybe Voldemort was afraid of Snape – he was eerily smart and in Dumbledore's pocket for fifteen years and Voldemort was under the impression that he was the only one good enough to kill him. It makes no matter that Dumbledore let Snape kill him because Voldemort didn't know about that until the end. Voldemort had all rights to be concerned about Snape.

Holy mother of Salazar Slytherin, it's really Snape! It has to be! No matter how far-fetched this is, the only explanation is that the person who wrote this letter is Severus Snape. It's only just hit me, and even though I have been pondering this for over thirty minutes the truth that this might actually be him never fully entered my mind. Somehow he lived and went into hiding and now he needs something from me, and I will give him anything he could possibly ask for. I will gladly do anything, give anything, to show him how grateful I am for everything he did for me. Words could never be enough, he would just sneer at me and tell me to leave, but by doing whatever he needs without question I can prove everything he won't let me say.

I can't believe I'm going to do this, two weeks ago I never would have allowed myself to even so much as think about things like this. But now that I started thinking about him, I just can't seem to stop. I think about him all the time now; I think about what he would say about the situation with Ginny. What else could he teach me that Robards can't? Would he laugh at me if I told him about my life? Would he understand the emptiness? I obviously need professional help because I am absolutely going with Cloak Guy. I'm not letting an opportunity like this slip away from me.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Ministry is the exact same every day. People bustle about urgently, going about their lives without a single clue as to what is really going on the world and I have made it my mission to simply not care anymore. If they would just rather muddle though their lives without any sense about them, then far be it from me to try and stop them. People are happier in ignorance and I am rather inclined to let them carry on.

The corridor leading to Hermione's office is crowded and stuffy, and I instantly want to turn around and go back the way I came. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is always packed to the rafters with people and their complaint forms. I wonder how anyone in here gets anything done with the amount of people bursting in with their banners waving for whatever organization they support.

"Harry! It's so good to see – oh, excuse me. Come over here and let me take a look at you, it's been months!" A demanding voice issues from the throng of protestors and advocates spilling from every office. I reckon that if I am led to slaughter tonight, I should at least visit with Hermione for a little while. Just in case.

"Herm – Pardon me, I need to get through here. Where are you, Hermione? Wave your arm or something!" I bellow, searching the rampant crowd for Hermione's signal.

"Over here, Harry, by the water cooler!"

"Yeah, alright, I see you," I mumble, mostly to myself, and shove people from my path despite random shouts of indignation.

Hermione's office is strangely quiet after the ruckus in the corridor and although there are papers and folders strewn about willy-nilly, the bushy-haired young woman behind the desk is tidy and put together.

"Oh Harry, it's wonderful to see you! You look so tired, you haven't been sleeping again! Sit down and I'll fix you a cuppa," she fusses, flittering about her office and pouring hot tea into a chipped mug. "There you are," she says and hands me the steaming cup.

"Thanks, 'Mione. You really need to stop fussing, you _need_ sit down and tell me all your news," I demand, smiling widely.

"Well, Ron and I are moving into a little flat near by soon. Its going to be wonderful to have a place of our own, don't you think? Molly has been great but I really don't think I could endure another month at the Burrow," she rambles, gesticulating enthusiastically and fiddling with papers on her desk as she speaks.

"Yes, it is a bit busy at the Burrow. I could never quite get used to it there. I'm just thrilled for you both, I think the new flat will be brilliant," I gush, feeling better the longer I sit in the lumpy, slightly lopsided chair in Hermione's office and sip on a cup of tea.

"Me too, but enough about us! Tell me all your news; how's Ginny?" She inquires, smiling blandly with polite interest. Maybe I should talk to Hermione… She's a bird, after all, and engaged to my other best friend and just might know how to live with someone you are apparently marrying. Not to mention the fact that I have been debating telling someone that I shall be going off with some bloke that I met just the once to go traipsing off to find Severus Snape… who has been dead for two years.

"Well, we're sort of… Merlin, I just need someone to talk to. I mean, all this crazy shit is happening, and I cant talk to Ginny about it because she's absolutely obsessed with planning the wedding every bloody minute and besides I don't particularly want to talk to her about anything at all, let alone about these things and I cant even stand to be in the same room with her anymore without wanting to rip out my own hair. So, yeah, we're a bit on the out at the moment."

"Alright, calm down. Tell me what's happening," she says evenly, looking as calm as ever.

"First off, Ginny is driving me up the bloody wall and it's gotten to the point that I don't even want to come home anymore because that means that I will have to face her and her inane blathering. It's not that I'm afraid of commitment or any of that sort of rubbish, but I just know that I don't want to be with her anymore. I'm not saying this right… but I… she… You know?" I blurt, managing to push the words past the idiocy that wanted to squeak past my lips and into the conversation without my express permission.

"Not actually, but I can imagine that I understand. You're at a precipice, Harry, and you either have to push past it or get out before one or both of you lose your minds. Do you honestly believe that you can't just make up?" Hermione asks, her tone very gentle and reminiscent of the way people speak to the very ill.

"It's not a matter of making up, 'Mione, The entire problem lies with her in general; I just cant stand her or her gold-digging, fame seeking, selfishness any longer. And that's not even mentioning her cooking!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around strangely.

"Well, it seems to me that you've already made up your mind. Do you reckon you should warn Ron before you actually break it off with her?" She asks with the same gentleness.

"No, I think not. He will absolutely blow a gasket the minute she comes running to him, crying her eyes out about mean old Harry Potter breaking her heart. I promise, it wont do any good to tell him ahead of time. No matter what I say, he'll be required to hate me for a while. It's not like I mean to hurt her, its just that I cant do this anymore with everything that's happening," I mutter, glaring into my cup of tea as though this entire situation was the teas fault.

"What 'things', Harry? Do you mean your training?" She inquires, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"Not particularly. Its… well… I don't want to tell you but I _really_ want to tell you," I whine, practically begging her to insist so that I can get this whole mess off my chest.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Just tell me," she huffs, rolling her eyes and crossing her legs.

"Alright, I'll tell you but I don't want you to try and interfere. I'm not looking for advice or any sort of help at all, I just want to tell someone so that I don't feel like there's this huge weight crushing down on me all the time," I declare heatedly.

"Yes, I understand. You want me to keep my mouth shut," she gripes, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Good. Well, you see, it all started about two weeks ago. I had just got off work and I had made it to the anti-apparition barriers so that I could go home when this bloke came out of nowhere and demanded that I come with him…" I start, and piece by piece I recount the strange events surrounding the cloaked man and weird letters coming to me in the dead of night.

When I had finished speaking, I chance a look at Hermione only to see her staring at me with something akin to extreme pity. I hate it when people pity me, it's not as though I'm some little baby that needs to be coddled into each and every decision that I make. This is precisely the reason that I never told anyone about the Dursley's! I just cant stand the way people look at me when they find out something unpleasant about my past, or the things I've had to do.

"Do you really think it's from Professor Snape?" She asks after a rather long moment of silence.

"Yes, I think so. I mean, the letter sounded just like him; he mentioned a lot of things that only the two of us knew about and I just cant imagine him telling people about them, and he signed the letter 'The Prince'. Do you know any other princes that know about the things Snape said to me the night he fled Hogwarts with Draco?" I snip, starting to become slightly irritable with the new turn of the conversation. Didn't I specifically mention that I didn't want advice or interference?

"Well, I can't think of anyone off the top of my head… but that doesn't mean that the person sending the letter is Professor Snape. Harry, it could be anyone! You simply cannot be considering this!" She shouts, only calming when I shush her rather dramatically. I really don't want the entire Ministry finding out about any of this.

"I'm not considering it, Hermione," I snap. "I have already decided to go."

"Oh Harry! Are you certain that you want to do this?" She whinges, making a rather unfortunate face and wringing her hands together.

"Yes, I am absolutely certain that I have to do this. I would regret it forever if I didn't go… Hermione, I have to go or I will go mad," I declare with a sneer, leaning back in my chair with renewed relaxation. This is exactly what I needed; a good debate to force me to see how very determined I really am to see this through.

"If you insist…," she mumbles wearily.

"I do. I just wanted someone to know what I'm doing just in case," I state, though in reality I had just made the connection between this conversation and the strange gnawing sensation that had been growing in my stomach the longer I thought about going off with some stranger that may or may not lead me to a presumed dead man.

"Alright, but if I don't hear from you tomorrow, I am going to alert the Aurors and send out a search party," she says vehemently, waggling her finger at me all the while.

"That sounds perfectly reasonable to me," I reply amiably.

"Good, now that's settled I think I should be getting back to work… unless there's something else you wanted to discuss," she hints.

"Of course, thanks for listening," I say, getting to my feet and leaning across the desk and kissing her cheek before making my way back into the swarm.

* * *

Alright, don't panic. This can end only two ways; one, this man could lead me into a death trap or two, he could lead me to Snape. It's not a huge mystery so there is no reason to be this nervous about a meeting with some cloaked man. I already know that I have to do this, so there is nothing left to do but walk out of this blasted building and talk to 'Vastian'. Easier said than done, I reckon.

The anti-apparition barriers tingle over me as I pass them and I heave a stinging breath into my lungs. A shudder runs through me as soon as I glimpse the cloaked man striding towards me purposefully.

"Mr. Potter, we meet again. Are you prepared to come with me this time?" says Vastian, and I can hear amusement coloring his voice.

"Yes, take me to him," I reply stiffly, feeling my stomach do a barrel-roll at the idea of letting this man take me anywhere. Every instinct is telling me to run, far away but I have to know, I have to find out, I have to do this.

"Excellent! Hold on to my arm," he exclaims and holds out his arm for me.

"Just so you know, if you lead me into a Death Eater trap, I will find you," I warn, reaching forward to grasp his forearm with my slightly damp hand. The last thing I hear before we begin our spin is a raspy chuckle at my expense.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took me a little while to get this chapter out; I got distracted by the random family members that always climb out of the woodwork as soon as the holidays come around. I could really use some feedback, so if it's not too much trouble PLEASE REVIEW!!

Oceans of Love,  
Kitty


	3. Chapter 3

_**One Day More**_: 

By: Kitty

The scent of orange blossoms tickles my nose and a velvety blackness has enveloped the surrounding landscape beyond recognition. The stars twinkle feebly in the face of suck darkness, and I can't seem to identify the scenery enough to determine where we are. The earth is smooth beneath my trainers – indicating a path of some sort – and I am very relieved that no one has ambushed me yet. The air is cold and dry, scratching the back of the throat with each inhalation and I instantly start to shiver.

"This way, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid it's a bit of a hike yet," Vastian cautions with a slight chuckle.

We begin to make our way up a slight incline, the even ground rising up a small hill seamlessly. Vastian leads me up the path, making light conversation as though we were old friends. He manages to completely avoid any sort of information that might clue me in to where we are or who we are going to meet and I cant help but feel a bit frustrated by the lack of knowledge I managed to acquire before traipsing about with some stranger.

"I cannot go on; you must go the rest of the way alone. The house is about 2 kilometers to the north." Vastian says clearly, and I make a confused (unfortunate) face. "That way," he clarifies, pointing to my right and chuckling softly.

"Oh, right. Er – are you certain that you can't walk me up?" I ask, feeling very young all of a sudden. My stomach is in knots and I think I might vomit again and I wish I was in the damn house already because I can honestly say that I am not yet convinced that this isn't going to end with a horde of Death Eaters popping out at me.

Damn it, Potter! You are an Auror… well almost an Auror and this is no worse than the raid on Sunday night and you managed to get through that just fine without sicking up all over the place so you can absolutely get through a walk to meet… someone that might be Snape.

"I'm sorry, no. I have been given explicit instructions to leave you at this point. I got the impression that The Prince wishes to see you alone. I promise that you will be completely safe," Vastian replies with a reassuring smile. I am not reassured, surprisingly.

"Well, in that case… heh, I'll just get going then…," I babble uncomfortably. Get a GRIP! How do you expect to walk through the door if you don't actually get there? This is worth it. Snape is worth it. Just keep telling yourself that until you stop wanting to be ill.

"Excellent! It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter," he says, waving somberly and backing away into the woods surrounding the path.

"Yeah, you too," I mutter, probably only to myself, and face forward.

I walk slowly up the slight sloping and sooner than I anticipated, I find myself in the front yard of a rather large cottage. The light from a fire flickers though warped windows and spills haphazardly on to the herb garden surrounding the house. The door is in the dead center, made of a dark wood and looking very sturdy – as though it were made to keep out a multitude of intruders.

It's alright, just keep walking – put one foot in front of the other and … Wards. I just passed through very, very strong wards. Well, that doesn't mean anything so you can just stop having a cardio-pulmonary incident right this minute.

The door, just get to the door and then the mystery will be solved. You won't have think about it anymore, because you will know who this Prince is and then you won't care anymore because you know and that will be good. Very good because you'll know. That's right, you'll know and that will be good.

I knock on the door softly, half hoping that The Prince won't be home and I will just go home and get annoyed with Ginny and mope around because I still don't know who The Prince is. Damn. I will be terribly miserable unless I actually do this. Just stop fidgeting and breathe normally.

"Enter," a deep voice calls from within. Ok, that's alright. Now I just have to walk into the cottage on my own merit. I can do this.

Turning the handle, the door creaks open with a soft whine. Light falls onto the porch and I silently step inside and shut the door as quietly as possible. The floorboards don't squeak as I pass over them and the only sound in the cottage is the cackling of the fire in the hearth. I see a wing-back chair facing the fire and a pale elbow poking over the arm. That's him, I'd wager… The Prince is sitting right there, I can see his elbow. It's a rather normal looking elbow, not monstrous at all, and no scales or Death Eater robes in sight. All excellent signs as far as I'm concerned.

"Come in and sit down," the voice rumbles, a deep and velvet sound that commands without even trying to.

"Alright then," I mutter and make my way to the twin chair right next to the elbow chair. Well, that was eloquent. Good one, Potter. It seems all that preparation I made in regards to what I would say when I first saw him have been completely useless. Not that I have seen him, yet. Oh god, do I even want to look at him? No, I don't think that I do want to look at him at all because the likelihood that this is, indeed, Snape is so scant that its just not worth the absolute despair I will feel as soon as I realize that Snape is really and truly dead.

Ok, don't look at him and just sit down. You can't be disappointed if you don't look. The chair is buttery and I sink down into it without even meaning to do so. It must have a relaxation charm built in because I don't think I have ever been so comfortable in my whole life. Just look into the fire and speak only when spoken to. Don't look at him because if it isn't him then I will lose every shred of hope I have managed to scrape together over the last few days as soon as I see a stranger's face looking back at me.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions," the voice intones, smooth as silk and managing to sound rather board.

"I suppose I do," I reply very quietly, attempting to identify the man from voice alone. It's not Snape's voice… not how I remember it anyway and the reality of this revelation crushes me slightly.

"Well, you may ask them," the voice prompts irritably. It's not Snape's voice.

"Right. Well, what do you want from me?" I ask shortly. I suppose I am a bit angry with this man. I mean, how DARE it not be Snape! This is terrible, worse than I imagined it would be when I tired to fool myself into thinking that I wouldn't be absolutely devastated if I found out that it wasn't Snape. I cant breathe right again, and there's this huge bolder crushing down on me and all these repressed feelings come rushing up and into my throat and I don't know if I can get anymore words out if I hope to keep from crying all over myself.

"That's it? Nothing else you'd like to ask? That is rather surprising, considering how often you have completely embarrassed yourself with constant inane blathering," he snarks. Well, that certainly sounds like Snape…

I'm going to remain silent. I shake my head in a meager response and continue to gaze unrelentingly into the licking flames in the hearth. I will not look, because I can still hold on to my pathetic desire for this stranger to transform into Snape.

"For Merlin's sake! At least look at me, Potter!" He snarls, and the leather of his chair creaks as he assumedly shifts in his seat.

"I'd prefer not to if it's all the same to you," I bark and stubbornly keep my eyes trained forward.

"It most certainly is not all the same to me. Look at me," The Prince demands but his voice is soft this time and we are back in the Shrieking Shack and he is bleeding all over the decrepit wood flooring and I am unable to refuse him anything. And for this one single moment I feel the walls crumble around me and I have to look at him. I have to see his face and look into his eyes and know for sure just who this man is and what he wants with me.

I turn my head slowly, gulping loudly and blinking rapidly until my eyes land somewhere near his collarbone. Oh god, just get it over with! I snap my eyes up and I lock eyes on obsidian fire burning into me as though I would spontaneously combust with just a look. Oh Merlin, I know those eyes – they've glared at me for seven years and I would know them anywhere. But his voice… it's not right. I have nightmares about that voice at least once a week – I would know it anywhere! It's not Snape's voice but those obsidian eyes are burning darkly at me and I can't help but shiver under the intense gaze.

"You can't even look at me, can you? Typical, I'd say. What's the matter, don't want to even have a decent conversation with me now that you happen to know a few select things about my life?" he says and a thinly veiled layer of disgust coats his voice to the point where I can feel myself flinching in response. I feel like a bloody first year all over again, getting in trouble for messing up in potions class. Well, it just so happens that I am not a first year anymore!

"Are you mad?! You just have no idea… after all these years you still manage to come to the wrong conclusion each and every time about me. I fucking mourned you, I cried over you because I thought you were dead. I think about you all the fucking time and I imagined over and over what it would be like to be your friend but you just refuse to stop being a pillock! I just need a bloody minute here because I watched you fucking die and now… well, here you are! Just… Damn it!" I bellow, completely undone and HOLY SHIT! It's Snape! You just yelled at Snape and he's actually alive to hear it! But his voice… its not Snape's voice – its too deep and rough and not yelling at me for once and…Oh. The snake bite! I am really thick. Of course his voice wouldn't be the same once a snake's fangs tore into his vocal chords. Oh fuck, Snape is here and I cant help but let my eyes pour over the clean ebony hair, pallid skin and snapping eyes that seem to glow out of his face

His eyes widen and he arches an eyebrow at my shocked face, and I know that he knows that I just realized that it was really him and not some random person using a similar nickname.

"Oh god," I whine, falling from the chair to the floor with a loud thump and I bury my head in my hands. "Snape," I whimper and tug on my own hair as though to rip the memories of him from my mind by pure will alone.

Snape is silent in his chair and it's entirely possible that I have ruined the only chance I'll ever have to say all the things that I have been bottling up for the past two years just because Snape has always managed to get right under my skin.

"There's absolutely no need to become overly emotional," Snape drawls and I can hear the poison dripping from every syllable.

"Damn it! Damn _you_! Would it have been so hard for you to send me a note telling me you were alive two years earlier? I wanted… oh god, how I wanted... but it didn't make any difference because I thought I could never… BECAUSE YOU WERE DEAD! But that didn't matter because I still wanted…," I burst, looking at the rafters as though they hold the answers to all the things, questions, I have swirling inside me.

"What is it that you wanted, Potter?" Snape asks gently, and for a moment it feels like my hair was being raked through with gentle fingers but that's impossible. I mean, it's Snape. He would never touch me with anything like kindness, or gentleness.

"I wanted you to be alive," I finish lamely, cursing myself for the terrible lie that spilled forth.

"Why?" He asks, voice getting steely in some sort of preparation for something he imagines I am going to say.

"Because you deserved to see what you did for us, because I needed you to see what I was able to do because of you. Because I felt awful for spewing my own misunderstandings as gospel and I wanted you to know that I get it now," I reply sorrowfully.

"Well, I am alive and I did see… and you didn't manage to completely botch the entire thing so I suppose that's something," he says simply. I can't help but laugh at the extreme Snape-ness that he manages to express with such little effort. The laughter sounds a bit hysterical even to my own ears.

"I believe that I will take that as a compliment," I smirk falsely and swallow thickly in order to push down the rampant emotions threatening to crash over me.

"If you so choose," he replies with a twitch of his lips, almost as though he were repressing a smile.

"May I ask some questions?" I tentatively ask, suddenly aware of exactly who I am in the room with and how volatile the man tends to be under the best of circumstances.

"If you get off the floor and sit in a ruddy chair like a civilized person," he sniffs and I can hear the hidden humor resting right under the sarcasm like I never could before.

"Yeah, sorry… I was just a bit – overwrought I suppose," I mutter, realizing just now that I have managed to throw a bit of a tantrum just like a toddler within five minutes through his door. How charming. I sit back in the buttery, leather chair and look over at him in a vain desire for approval. Pathetic much, Potter? Seven years later and you still just want to hear him tell you that you might not be an entire waste of space.

"It is… understandable. This must be a bit of a surprise…," he says slowly, tilting his head in my direction as though his attention was completely riveted by my face. This is what it must be like to have Severus Snape not look upon you with molten hatred sealed over his countenance. I can see how some people might find it unnerving or awkward but to me, it makes me feel fantastically significant to him. I suppose, in a way, I have always been rather important to him – not that he wanted me to be important to him.

"I'm so so very sorry" I blurt suddenly, unable to look away from the sparking, black eyes that I dreamed about endlessly. I am a bit shocked by my own words, seeing as how I have a billion questions swirling around my brain that are all just rioting to get out.

"So you've said and I believe I told you that your emotional display was rather understandable considering the shock you must be going through," he says with a roll of his eyes as though he is irritated by my lack of listening skills.

"I wasn't exactly talking about that, though I am sorry for it. I was actually referring to leaving you to bleed to death in a dirty, disgusting hovel," I snap out and manage to hold his eyes despite the strange glimmer that crept into his gaze.

"Excuse me?" he croaks, looking rather uncomfortable and although he doesn't outwardly show it, I know he is very taken aback.

"I just left you there and I had no idea that you were alive and I just… I didn't know and I am so desperately sorry," I babble. Way to go, Potter – That was just about the most idiotic thing I must have ever said in front of him. By Merlin, why do I always make a complete arse of myself whenever Snape so much as looks at me?

Snape coughs delicately, looking away and into the fire but there is no mistaking the surprise that loiters in his expression no matter how hard he has tried to disguise it with his rather impressive mask of indifference.

"Would it comfort you if I told you that I forgave you?" he asks and his voice has taken that velvety quality that is almost… well, it's nice and I suppose that I don't have a lot of experience dealing with Snape's 'Nice Voice'.

"Do you? Forgive me, that is," I reply skeptically, looking at his profile intently in the flickering light. Who would have thought that I would eventually find that looking at Snape is the best thing I have seen since I looked down on Voldemort's remains? His hair is still lank (although it appears to be washed at least), his nose is still big and his skin too pale but to me, he is the most beautiful sight in the world.

"No," he says, but there is a smirk whispering on the sides of his lips that gives me a bit of a pause. It doesn't look like his usual 'I am doing this because I hate you' smirk so I must assume that there is something else hiding behind that simple, negative answer.

"Then, no, it would not particularly comfort me" I pout, noticing that I will have to get some new trainers soon because they are looking awful – not that I am avoiding looking at him, because that would be absurd. It's not as though Snape has ever taken an interest in my actual feelings. I am absolutely not disappointed.

"Potter, there isn't anything that I need to forgive you for," he rumbles with such reluctance that it really is a wonder that he got the words out to begin with.

"Oh," I say stupidly, glancing at him only in snatches. Don't want to make him think that I am staring at him or something equally strange. It's entirely possible that I misunderstood that last part because there is little chance that Snape actually comforted me.

"Do you even realize that you are sitting here, giving me kicked-puppy eyes? It really is quite disconcerting," Snape says, with something akin to exasperation instead of venom in his tone. At least he hasn't hexed me and forbade me to ever come back. Yet.

"Er… sorry. It's just… you're here," I stumble, and shut my eyes as though in great pain – I cant believe I just said that. Here comes the sarcasm.

"I did notice that, Potter," he smirks without most of the rancor I am accustomed to. Interesting.

"I thought you might have," I throw back instantly, giving him a little half-smile.

"And I thought you might have noticed that you haven't asked any actual questions yet," he says, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, 'course. You're probably rather busy and here I am having a breakdown in your lounge. I know you'd prefer we skipped a few things so why don't we just start with why you asked me to come here after two years," I prattle dumbly, twiddling my fingers in my lap nervously. I am totally positive that Snape doesn't want to talk about my mom or Voldemort and probably not Dumbledore either so I think that this should be relatively safe.

Snape's eyebrows shoot into his hairline and he seems to be studying my face intently as though he is searching my eyes for signs of a prank. He seems to find what he's looking for because he says, "You are saying that you have no other things that you wish to ask me besides the reason why I called you here?"

"Merlin, no! I have a billion questions that I want to ask you but I rather thought you'd like to avoid any conversations about my mother, Dumbledore, Death Eaters or Voldemort. I was trying to be considerate," I utter, laughing uneasily and curling my fingers into the arms of the chair.

His lips twitch again, and he closes his eyes in a long blink. When those glittering black coals are once again fixed unerringly on my own eyes, he smirks. "Well reasoned, Potter. I'm shocked," he says nastily but there is something flashing in those obsidian depths that belie the sarcasm.

"Believe it or not, I actually do have a brain in my head," I snark, smiling large enough the blind the poor man.

"So you say. I think that we should leave off business for the time being, if you have a spot of time. Perhaps some tea first?" he suggests, raising an eyebrow in question. I doubt I manage to disguise my shock but I nod jerkily anyway. His lips twitch again.

This is absolutely surreal; Snape is offering me tea and not belittling me with every syllable. Maybe he is terribly ill and that's why he isn't acting quite himself, although if I know Severus Snape then I can guess that the man would be even more impossible when sick. Goodness, circles are fun to think in. Gah! Focus, Potter!!

Snape is adeptly pouring tea into delicate china cups and balancing them on matching saucers, making short work of scooping two scoops of sugar into one cup and handing me the sweetened brew. Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that he knows how I take my tea. After all, he did spend an inordinate amount of time observing everything he could about everyone around him.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking the cup from him and trying to control the shaking of my hands so the set doesn't rattle too much. Its enough that he already knows that I am in shock, there is no reason to show the symptoms.

"I'm sure you would grant me the same courtesy if I was in your home," he says graciously, sweeping his hand in the air as though to wipe the memory of my gratitude from the environment.

Merlin, I can't do this right now. Ginny is going to kill me for being late, and Ron will chew me out of she goes crying to Molly again and I just don't seem to care at all because this is exactly where I want to be. I made it here, through all the death and suffering and I just can't stand for him to act as though we are just two strangers who have no history at all. I can't bare the thought of idle conversation with this man when there are so many things I want to say to him, all of them clamoring their way up my throat right at this minute.

"Could we please not do this? I mean, I appreciate the effort, I really do, its just that I am totally off balance and I think I might be in shock, so maybe we could just… stop. Please?" I beg desperately, completely overwhelmed and irrational and not at all in control of my faculties. I wanted to be strong, mature, civilized but of course I am totally unable to string two coherent thoughts together when those obsidian eyes are focused on me.

"I can assure you that we aren't actually doing anything, Mr. Potter. I realize that this must be rather… difficult to digest but perhaps if you just drink your tea and relax a bit, things might clear up for you," he says softly, almost soothingly, and I feel wetness under my eyes that must be steam from the tea. I nod once and stare into the fire again.

"How did you do it?" I blurt, turning my head to look intently at his unblemished cheekbone. There now, Potter, that wasn't so bad. You even managed not to have an emotional breakdown this time.

"I assume that even you are aware of what a Potions Master does," he replies dryly, a smirk curling his lips. Ah, the sarcasm.

"Right, we wont talk about that, then. Should this be a quiet moment?" I ask, chewing my bottom lip in a stunted attempt to keep my mouth shut. I should just not say words.

"It was supposed to be, yes. But since you seem so intent on talking, perhaps it would be best to put this behind us," he sighs.

"Sir, I swear I didn't know you were alive. I never even thought that you might have something on you that could help. I should have done more, thought faster, done something – "

"Did it ever occur to you that I wanted you to think I was dead?" he says loudly, stepping right over my guilty tirade.

Oh. _Oh._

"So why would you expose yourself now, after all this time?"

"That, Potter, is the business that I spoke of earlier. I'm afraid that you won't like the answer," he says hesitantly, pinching his lips together.

"Well, you got me all the way out here, served me tea, and watched me have a slight break from reality, so lying to me is just not on. Whatever it is, I'll deal with it," I reply, shrugging my shoulders slightly.

"I need your help, Potter," he says gratingly, as though the words themselves caused him great pain.

"What do you need?" I ask instantly, not even having to consider the possibility of not helping him.

"I am dying and I need you to cure me."

* * *

Well, here we have it: The third installment of One Day More. I am sure you are all speculating as to the nature of this allusive cure, but I am afraid things aren't going to get smutty until a little later. I hope that everyone is enjoying the fic so far because I am sure having a blast writing it. Perhaps you could feel a starving writer by REVIEWING?!?! Reviews feed the updates! The more reviews I get, the faster I write. So please REVIEW!!

Oceans of Love,

-Kitty


End file.
